


A Shout at Dawn

by Limonium



Series: like the sun came out [1]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eren doesn't even know lmao, How Do I Tag, M/M, One Shot, i honestly don't know what to tag, like super short
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 00:08:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10910250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Limonium/pseuds/Limonium
Summary: It was truthfully done on a whim at first. In fact observing the stranger was something he just tried that one time. He can't really remember anymore why it became routine.





	A Shout at Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pukapuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pukapuka/gifts).



> Happy Birthday Sty! Holy shit, I made you a thing! I would’ve written you something with Voltron but I don’t think my brain is capable of working that out yet since I am still at the early stages of watching said show. So I sort of ended up with this...
> 
> I hope I can send you happy vibes with this short work! Thank you for always being a very supportive and kind friend! Even if I disappear on you for weeks! Even if I confused your birthday with another date! I hope I got it right this time around!
> 
> Happy Birthday, you lovely person!!!!!!
> 
>  
> 
> I don’t have excuses for any grammar, tenses and wording mistakes. English is not my native language. Unbetad. This is my first work and I’m nervous as hell, please be gentle. Seriously what are words?!

It was coincidence Levi might say. Or something pretty cliché like fate. But who knows? Life keeps moving forward, fueled by certain forces out there that man can't really explain all the time. Still, he thinks he’d done it out of his free will. He doesn’t buy that destiny thing. What was it he read in a book once? Something along the lines of multiple intelligence, existentialist was it? Whatever.

Of course, he wouldn't deny he had pondered once or twice or fine—a few times as to why he was living, when in fact he's not really living. Despite his cleaning tendencies, being stuck at home was, comforting at best but not always that enjoyable. The only thing worth his time aside from cleaning was probably strumming chords on his guitar, scribbling down words when inspiration strikes or he gets that moment when a certain word goes nicely with a tune. That’s just basically for him as a person who's not entirely crippled—but somehow is in a certain way, which makes his monotonous days worth living. There. So he's actually living isn't he?

Levi ponders about these things as he tries to make himself comfortable at his usual corner near his bedroom window. He is seated cross-legged on a varnished rectangular wooden table, his instrument—a regular sized acoustic guitar—is balanced on his lap. The guitar's shiny rust-colored surface is smooth to the touch, and a few small dents could be found on certain spots. His left hand is switching swiftly from chord to chord, while the fingers on his right is idly plucking the strings. It was a habit he had started doing after the first time he had observed a stranger from a spot he could clearly see from his bedroom window.

It was truthfully done on a whim at first. In fact observing the stranger was something he just tried that one time. He can't really remember anymore why it became routine. He had come back home from his busking one night, merely because his favorite spot in front of the train station was hogged by another busker. It was a brown haired guy who keeps on biting his tongue when he sings, and the ear-splitting electric guitar rapping was something he couldn't handle for very long. Even as determined as he is to play every night at the same spot and wanting to be patient until it was vacated, Levi wouldn't risk to lose his hearing. A very wise decision to make because the guy was totally crap with singing.

So then he decided to come back home early. He had changed to his sleeping clothes and opened his bedroom window to feel some night breeze. He was then looking over at the quiet town at four in the morning and spotted a single headlight moving through the empty streets. That was the first time Levi had caught sight of the stranger. Seen it again the next day. And the next.

 

And the next.

 

And there, every day, across the dimly lighted street during the wee hours before dawn, a tell-tale sound of a white scooter would slow down and come at the bus stop. To be precise, the spot is clearly for bus passengers who get off or alight the transport to go to God knows where. At least they go somewhere and is not stuck in one place unlike Levi. Huh. For some reason, this stranger had decided the bus stop is included in his to-do list or whatsoever ritual he has in the mornings. Levi doesn't know whether the stranger does it as religiously as he cleans his tiled, bathroom floor or his impeccable kitchen counter.

There at that stop, a street sign which clearly states 'bus stop', which is weighed down by a circular-cement base is placed upright on the sidewalk. A blue park bench is situated a few spaces behind it and beside the bench was a vending machine sporting the water brand 'Sina Blue' on its side with bold, blue letters. There's a plain black trash bin beside it.

The stranger—a guy, who has messy brown or black hair, Levi's not too sure—comes there at around five or six in the morning every day on his two-wheeled clunking metal of a vehicle. A deep green surfboard with blue borders on both ends is strapped on one side of his scooter. The guy always comes there to get a drink from the vending machine, sits on the bench for a while, and leaves once he downs the rest of his bottled drink. Sometimes two of his friends—a girl who seems to always wear a red scarf and a blond guy with a bowl cut comes along with him on their own scooters with surfboards as well.

Every day, Levi watches him; the guy who is currently wearing a white collared shirt and black slacks, a typical uniform for a high school student to which Levi assumes that he is. The guy is seated on that blue bench downing his drink, while he in turn would idly strum and pluck on strings, quietly observing. After a moment Levi stops playing his guitar.

Somehow the guy is sitting exactly where the street sign is blocking Levi's view of his head.

 

Great.

 

Levi doesn't even watch that much TV shows. Heck, he's not that much into the internet. Or magazines. Or mobile phones. He's sort of watching this guy. A stranger who's become daily entertainment or oddity, since he's only been recently added to his routine and so on for him. And that street sign is in the way.

Levi glares at it despite the distance; he wishes that that sign would disintegrate with how much he's deliberately glaring daggers at it. He rubs his fingers on his forehead. Lets out a disgruntled sigh. He gets up and places his guitar carefully on one end of the table. He stands there, arms crossed, his face scrunching and eyes narrowing. "Damn it all," he mutters.

Not knowing Levi's current predicament, the stranger at the bench is now trying to throw his empty bottle at the trash bin. He doesn't try to get up but does an imitation of a basketball player trying to score. Or free-throw. Who knows. That's what Levi thinks.

 

The guy misses.

 

He gets up—and Levi's glad he does—and picks up the bottle and goes back to the bench. This time he sits on the other side, away from where the street sign was blocking Levi's view. Oh.

 

The guy tries again.

 

Levi climbs back up at the table for the second time that day and sits cross-legged with his arms on the window edge, glad to focus his attention on the guy doing failed attempts at throwing his trash. The guy just missed his seventh attempt. Tries again.

 

And again.

Misses.

And again.

 

"How stupid," Levi says, his gray eyes slightly shining with mirth.

 

And again.

 

The guy gets up and mimics dribbling. Levi snorts. The sky is turning a shade lighter, the stars vaguely visible. The guy runs around the bench, air dribbling and pretends to block an opponent from scoring. The sound of bird chirping and an echo of a rooster’s cock-a-doodle-do go about the waking town. Well, at least right now the ones awake here is just Levi and the guy. The guy across the street who's successfully looking stupid and failing at dunking bottles. Said guy is now doing some half-assed arm stretching, and then pauses, then huffs out a laugh. To Levi it looks like a laugh. He can't be sure. His window is up at the second-floor, and the two-story house is sort of up the hill, and across the hill is the street where the bus stop is. The window has a spectacular view of the sea, especially at dawn when the ever-glowing sun rises. It was something Levi's mother had said. He never saw the sunrise—not once, not ever.

The guy is now standing in the middle of the empty street, a little away from the trash bin. He looks around for a minute, suspiciously looking if anyone would be present to observe his antics. Good thing Levi is pretty far to be noticed.

The guy's trying to pick a position to throw the bottle. Stops at one, raises his arms and throws—but then he doesn't really go through it. Levi waits, slouched on the window, his head resting on top of his folded arms as he observes with continuous amusement. Internally, he's sending out a couple of 'you can do it' in his head.

 

Just then, the guy swings his arms a bit—and then purposefully he throws—

 

Levi lifts his head, lips partly open, his eyes keenly following the bottle as it arches through the chilly morning air—

 

Levi blinks once, and the bottle hits the side of the vending machine—and then—into the bin.

 

The guy shouts a loud 'Yeah.' Levi pumps his fists up. The guy runs and happily jumps around. And majestically hits his knee on the edge of the bench.

Levi covers his mouth with his hands, stifling the laughter trying to come out.

 

After a few minutes, the guy straightens himself out, gets on his scooter and puts on his helmet. Starts it up and then without glancing back, speeds away to the direction of the sea. Levi watches the figure as it turns at a corner. Gazes out for a few more moments even when there's nothing to gaze at. A lighter shade of green is peeking out at the edge of the sea. He gets up, slides his window closed and pulls the UV shutters down. Closes the curtains. He picks up his guitar and puts it back in its case, and then heads to bed. Levi pulls the covers up to his chin with a hint of a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Inspired by the film Taiyou no Uta. :D


End file.
